Conquistadores
by Cordria
Summary: An army of conquistadores is invading a town and there is only one person standing in their way... the Phantom.


_AU. Very definitely. Nice images, very crystal clear when I wrote it. Translations at the bottom of you don't speak español and can't figure out what they are trying to say. I like this one a lot, so no flames!

* * *

_

**Conquistadores**  
A Danny Phantom FanFiction by Cordria

* * *

A single man walked over the rise, two simple swords carried in a shoulder sheath. The morning sunlight sparkled off of his silver belt and the single broach pinned to his chest. Everything else about him was dark: his clothes were like a deep, moonless shadow, his boots had been dyed a murky, muddy chocolate and his cavern-dark hair hung down into his eyes. He surveyed the small army that had gathered on the field. Then he started to walk forwards, keeping his eyes focused on the ground. No one followed him over the rise. 

Before him, the army stood still. One of the _capitánes_ of the army glared up at the single, lean man that was coming towards him. "¿_Quién es_?" he growled. His horse whickered and shook its head. The man yanked sharply on the reins to quiet it. "¡_Silencio_!"

A tall, dark man pushed his helmet back farther onto his head and studied the soloist. His face paled slightly. "_Dios mío_," he whispered, just loud enough for the men near him to hear. "_El Phantasma_." Behind him, the whispered name of the highly-rumored demon fighter rippled through the ranks of the conquistador's army.

Just as the tall man spoke, the dark gentleman came to a stop facing them on the field. He was quiet, the army was hushed. Suddenly, a freezing breeze blasted through the assembled men, their flags whipping out and snapping harshly. The army shivered as one, half-heartedly calming their nervous horses. The demonic wind hadn't been just cold; it had also carried with it the blood-chilling feeling of pure power. To further the army's fears, the odd stranger's hair and clothes had not rustled in the sharp wind.

The mysterious man had everybody's attention. He looked up from studying the ground. His ice-blue eyes gazed around at the small army. "I need you to leave, Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca. Leave and never return."

The _capitán_ standing in the front of the army shook his head. "Who commands?" he asked in broken English, speaking for the commander who was watching from the rear.

"The people of this fair city do not wish to be conquered by Spain today." The shadowy man stood easily, his arms crossed lazily across his chest.

"¿_Usted y qué ejército_?" the _capitán_ laughed, but fell silent when few of his men followed his lead. He turned around to check his army and found ranks of pale-faced men staring uneasily at the dark stranger blocking their way.

The man's now crystal-green eyes glittered inhumanly in the morning light. "_Soy el Phantasma_," he whispered, his voice carrying easily over the soft sounds of the army. The man unsheathed his thin side-swords. He held one in each hand, swinging them around slightly. They glittered silver-blue in the light. "I am the Phantom. I need no army."

Then he vanished. Within seconds, those green eyes were back, inches from the _capitán_'s nose. The man blinked and jerked backwards, reaching for his own sword. One sparkling blade flashed before his eyes, the other traveling a bit lower. As the former _capitán_'s head fell one way off his horse and his body went the other, the Phantom was left, balancing carefully on the nervous horse's back. He looked around at the army, many of whom were already beginning to panic and run, and smiled grimly. He had work to do.

He jumped into the air, somersaulting smoothly before landing on his toes in the midst of the Spanish cavalry. Just as his soft, worn boots hit the ground, he was moving. He threw himself forwards, phasing just long enough to pass through the horse's head, and slammed a blade into the unfortunate man's chest. Ripping the blade sideways mid-jump, the man levered himself into a spin that simultaneously half-tore the blade from the first man's chest and buried his second blade into the abdomen of the guy next to him.

The Phantom phased both blades for a heartbeat, freeing them from the bodies as they toppled off of their terror-filled mounts. Letting a few horse hooves and one errant sword blade pass through him, he settled his unearthly green eyes on his next target: a young man urging his horse into a gallop headed straight for him. He ran forwards a few steps, then dove underneath the unsettled horse, ignoring the flying hooves, and sprang straight upwards. He passed through the horse and its rider, let them race past him as he twisted around. His sword, which was a lot more solid than the Phantom himself, twirled around and smashed into the young man's face.

Ignoring the chopped-off cry, the Phantom pushed off of the alarmed horse and flipped into the air. Two quick slices while in mid-air left two young army men headless, but it killed his momentum. He dropped into the mud, crouched and ready to spring, panting heavily. Glancing around for a new target, he listened to the majority of the army yelling and running away. He grinned, watching the horses run from his vantage point low to the earth. But not everybody was running. Not yet. He turned his glowing glaze onto the three dozen or so men that had not taken flight. He needed to bring the battle to the next level.

The Phantom stood up slowly, his swords dangling down by his sides, studying the stragglers. The tall, dark man who had correctly identified him when he first came over the ridge was sitting slightly apart from the others, calming his horse and not bothering to draw his sword. The others had their swords in their hands, glancing at each other. A few were trembling so badly it was visible from his vantage point. The Phantom's seething gaze was something right out of a nightmare as he glared at the remaining men. With each heartbeat, his eyes would flare with a burst of energy and then slowly fade back into a more normal green. The Phantom let a malicious grin cross his face as he decided what to do.

He rang his two blades together, letting the odd clash echo over the abnormally quiet battlefield. Just like when snapping flint and steel together, sparks flew at the joining of his swords. The flickers of light seemed to ignite the two blades - inhumanely green, spectral energy flowing into existence and swirling crazily around the sharpened steal. The Phantom raised his two smoldering swords, excess energy dripping off of the points like burning blood to evaporate mid-fall, the emerald glow bringing a demonic quality to his shadowed face.

He strode smoothly forwards, his blades raised and ready to fight. One man, a short, fat fellow with dented armor, kicked his horse into a sudden gallop, screaming to the heavens as he brought his rusty sword down to try and skewer the Phantom. The Phantom merely brought his own blazing sword in line with the man and sent a blast of frozen power through the energized steel. A flare of spectral energy shot from the end of the sword straight for the man. It seared through the old, hand-me-down armor in a flash before continuing straight through the man's heart and out his back.

The Phantom let the panicked horse and its dead rider pass through him as he continued to pace forwards without breaking his rhythm. He let the jade fire trickle off of his swords and trail up his arms. The flames suddenly flared into life all over his body, dancing through his messy hair and outlining his lean form. The mud around him froze instantly, the dark ice spidering away from him. He couldn't help the small laugh as the cold, intoxicating power flooded through him. His eyes blazed like tiny suns as he took another step towards the remnants of the conquistador's army, muddy ice crackling under his boot.

With that display of power, the men broke and fled, whipping their horses into a frenzy as they raced to catch up with their fleeing companions. The Phantom let the flames die, his odd smile vanishing as the liquid-green fire calmed in his veins and the enthralling energy draining away. He sighed and turned around to survey the damage.

Six men lay dead on the field; the last was slumped limply on his horse. He sheathed his perfectly clean blades and closed his emerald eyes. He listened to the creak of the leather saddle as the tall, dark man brought his horse up to his side. "_El Phantasma_…" the man stated softly. "You get scarier every time I watch you fight."

"You are starting to believe your own rumors," the Phantom said softly. He finally opened his eyes, back to their normal blue, and glanced up at his friend. "Did you actually get paid this time?"

"No," the man admitted, but took a small pouch out of the pocket of his muddy coat. "I did manage to… _appropriate_… enough funds to last us for a while though."

The Phantom smiled slightly, but didn't move from his spot on top of his mud-ice platform. He watched the silent, still remains of the battlefield, quietly taking in the slowly spreading pools of blood. "I hate killing, Tucker," he whispered.

"I know, _amigo_," the man answered. "But you saved everybody in that town. Those Spaniards would have killed them."

"I know…" The Phantom suddenly turned and started to walk back up the ridge.

Tucker moved his dapple horse alongside the young man. After a minute of silence, he asked, "You going to get paid for saving _this_ town?"

The Phantom shook his head. "Probably not. The town looked like it could barely afford to feed itself." He topped the ridge and put the slaughter behind him, relaxing slightly. He strode up to a black horse that was standing in the shade of a small, lonesome tree. The horse looked up at the man, the odd marking on her face resembling some sort of fairy-tale ghost. "Morning Banshee," Phantom laughed as he rubbed her nose.

"Stupid horse," Tucker muttered, smiling as he tried to lighten the mood. "It'd figure that you'd find the one horse in the Americas that isn't afraid of you and you'd name it something stupid."

"What's wrong with Banshee?" Phantom asked, his blue eyes sparkling as he tightened her saddle. "Come on, you sticky-fingered thief, let's go find something to eat. I missed breakfast."

* * *

_Notas:_

_Capitán_ – captain  
¿_Quién es_? – Who is it?  
¡_Silencio_! – Quiet!  
_Dios mí_o_, el Phantasma_. – My God, the Phantom.  
¿_Usted y qué ejército_? – You and what army?  
_Soy el Phantasma_. – I am the Phantom.  
_Amigo_ - friend

"_Phantom" is actually spelled "Fantasma" in Spanish (with an 'f')… I changed it to 'ph' 'cause I like the look better. :-) And yes, I do know that "ph" doesn't sound like "f" in Spanish._

_Álvar Núñez Cabeza de Vaca is (was) a real conquistador in the Americas.

* * *

_

_This one may be continued at some point... but I'm going to finish off some of my other stories first. If you are really interested in reading more, please review! I do listen to my reviewers in trying to figure out what to work on. _

_:-) Thanks for reading!!_

_Cori_


End file.
